


An Unexpected Journey

by Oparu



Category: Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/F, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 15:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: Beverly and Kathryn are accidentally thrown back in time and rescued by the Shenzhou, meeting Michael Burnham and the legendary captain Philippa Georgiou.(or the time Beverly and Kathryn didn't change the timeline, in the past at least)





	An Unexpected Journey

**Author's Note:**

> this has incredible artwork that I will link as soon as it's up. 
> 
> Many many thanks to holdoutrout, witchpieceoftoast and al-the-grammer-geek for betaing.

"Our guests are two humans, both female, approximately fifty or sixty years old. Good health, other than their injuries. As you know, Captain, I've never seen this kind of brain trauma before. Both of them have been through it: broken bones, residual radiation, signs of healed injuries." Dr. Nambue paused and glanced up. "Each of them has had a child, one several decades ago, one more recently, within the last two years, judging by the way her pelvis has healed."  

Commander. Burnham stood still, behind the doctor, watching him circle the biobeds as he pointed to the display. She'd comment when she knew more.

Philippa stared down at their guests. Two women in uniforms of some sort, something familiar, grey and black, rather than blue. Each of them wore a colored undershirt, one blue, one red. Different divisions? They wore the same symbol, not distinct like her crew.

"Their shuttle was full of mycelium spores, similar to those currently being studied by the _Discovery_ and the _Glenn,"_ Officer Saru reported, reading from his PADD. "Most of their research is classified; however, it is possible that the displacement of this shuttle is related to the potential for interstellar travel Lieutenants Stamets and Straal have written about."

"Mycelium?" Nambue repeated. "You mean mushrooms. Our guests were somehow brought here by mushrooms?"

"The presence of the spores does not imply causation; however, it behooves us to be aware of all the possibilities."

Studying the faces of her crew, Philippa glanced over her shoulder at the door, making sure they were alone. "Tell them all of it, Doctor."

"They've both been healed for numerous injuries, and it's better than I could do. The osteoregeneration, the muscular repair, even the dental work - it's similar to what I would do, how I'd fix a femur, for example, but whoever did it had access to better tools."

"How much better?" Michael raised her eyebrow.

Nambue shrugged. "A hundred years, maybe more?" He called something up on the display. "This one, our guest in blue, has several support units working with her internal organs, two with her liver and one with each kidney. We have synthetic kidneys, and I can rebuild a liver with prosthetics, but these are better, much better. See how they're promoting regeneration on the cellular level? I can't do that. Starfleet can't do that."

Michael lifted one of the badges they'd taken from their chests. "Starfleet can't do that _yet_."

"Exactly."

"The hypothesis is that they are from the future, Captain?" Saru looked to her, waiting as he always did.

Philippa nodded to Burnham, letting her answer the question.

"Engineering reports that their technology is similar to ours. Some of it resembles that of the _Shenzhou_ , but their warp drive, their impulse engines, even their food synthesizer is better than ours, more advanced. Their computer won't boot up yet but if they're really from the future..."

"Then it is for the best that we do not know. Having access to our history before it is ours to call history is not a gift we want to open," Philippa finished with a decisive nod.

Her senior staff nodded to her, and she smiled back. They were a good crew, and she could trust them.

"We will need to keep this quiet. All data about the shuttle and our guests needs to be locked down, eyes of the senior staff only."

"Aye, Captain."

"Mr. Saru, return to the shuttlebay and find out what you can about the spores and if they are responsible for bringing them here. If you need to, open a channel to the _Discovery_ or _Glenn_ if they're in range. Get more data, read through everything you can about these spores." She turned to Nambue and Burnham once Saru had left. "Can you wake them?"

Nambue made that face doctors always made when asked to do something they did not approve of. "The one in red sustained the more severe head injury; the one in blue's cranial pressure is better. Waking her would be acceptable, but she's been through a great deal. If her vitals slip out of the green, your conversation is done, Captain."

Burnham folded her arms over her chest, watching.

"Do it."

He took a hypospray and pressed it to her neck. The woman in blue had red-blonde hair that fell to her shoulders, while her companion's was more brown. They'd been found lying close to each other on the deck, hands touching. It could have been a fluke, part of the way the shuttle had spun before they'd saved it from the cold darkness of space, but Philippa wondered if they were connected.

Their guest took a breath, winced, and licked her lips before her eyes opened. She stared up into the light, then her eyes focused.

"Kathryn?" she asked, sitting up before Dr. Nambue could steady her. "Kathryn?"

"She's here," Philippa said, pointing to the bed at her side. "She's here, you're both all right. You're aboard the Federation Starship _Shenzhou_."

The woman shut her eyes, taking a moment before she smiled wearily. "Thank you." She touched her forehead and shifted her gaze from Philippa to Dr. Nambue. "Concussion?"

"Yours was moderate, but your companion - Kathryn - hers was much more severe."

"She was flying the shuttle, hit her head when we--" the woman stopped, her eyes fixed on Kathryn. "When everything started to glow."

Burnham mouthed 'mycelium' and Philippa nodded.

"How is she? Is that her intracranial pressure?" She indicated the display and reached out toward Dr. Nambue for his tricorder. "Did you use the cellular stint?"

"Of course, but her pressure isn't dropping as fast as I'd like."

The woman started to stand, but stopped, lifting her hand to refuse help. "I'm all right."

"I just rebuilt part of your vertebrae a few hours ago," Dr. Nambue said. "Take it easy."

She nodded, looked from him to Burnham, then fixed her eyes on Philippa. "Captain?"

"Captain Philippa Georgiou. This is my First Officer, Commander Burnham and my Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Nambue."

Their names seemed to be familiar in a way the name of the vessel had not, as their guest's eyes widened. "Captain Georgiou, I'm Doctor Beverly Crusher, this is my wife, Kathryn Janeway."

"Of _Deep Space Six_ ," Philippa said, testing her. "That was written on your shuttle."

"And you don't even have a _Deep Space One_ yet, do you?" Beverly's wry smile was easy to return.

"You're from the future."

"You must understand, Captain, that what I can tell you must be limited."

"Not even your ranks."

Beverly tucked part of her hair back. "The Temporal Prime Directive prohibits me from telling you what I would like to be able to tell you."

"There is no Temporal Prime Directive," Burnham reminded them.

"There is not one, _yet_ , Michael. Let us make sure this is not the incident that necessitates its invention." Philippa corrected pointedly.

"My patients need rest."

Beverly looked at Dr. Nambue, then nodded. "I'll do you the professional favor of not being a terrible patient."

"Thank you."

"However--"

Nambue rolled his eyes. "Yes?"

"You can bring her intracranial pressure down faster if you use tricyclic blood pressure protocols."

"We don't use tricyclics for head injuries."

"Because they won't be cleared for cranial trauma for another few decades, but I, that is my wife and I--"

"Will get no argument from me, Doctor," Dr. Nambue agreed politely.

Philippa patted his shoulder. "Play nice."

"Yes, Captain."

"Burnham, with me."

* * *

 

They had to keep quiet in the corridor. Strange visitors from the future could not be discussed where the rest of the crew could hear. They would need to go back without doing any lasting damage to the timeline, and they knew it. They were still Starfleet, and that meant a kind of kinship. It had to.

In her ready room, Michael shook her head. "A century into the future?"

"Stranger things have occurred."

"And now we're their past."

Philippa turned to the window, staring out at the stars. "Indeed we are."

Michael sank onto the sofa. "They serve together."

"Married couples can."

"And have children."

Beverly hadn't mentioned their children yet, but it seemed both of them were mothers. Where were their children? Were they safe on _Deep Space Six_? On a planet? Was the Federation safe from conflict? How big was their galaxy? Who were their allies?

"Hopefully their children are safe,” Michael added quietly.

"We'll get them home," Philippa promised. "It's the least we can do. The future must need them."

"Our future." Michael shook her head again. "I can't even imagine."

* * *

 

Damn sickbays were always the same. The lights were too bright, the biobeds beeped, and they were uncomfortable. Itchy, or too soft, sometimes too hard. She hated being there. Kathryn stirred reluctantly, ready for some kind of lecture from whatever doctor ruled this particular lair. A hand slipped into hers, and she relaxed. That was Beverly. Wherever she was, whatever had happened, Beverly was here.

"I was right about the lights, wasn't I?"

"They weren't dangerous," Beverly retorted, kissing her forehead. "Our rescuers think the lights might have been what kept us alive."

"You're just saying that because I was unconscious longer." She moved her head and immediately regretted the motion. Her skull throbbed like a warp core, pulsing enough that her vision was a blurry mess. Beverly came into focus only after she squinted. "What happened?"

"The shuttle impacted some kind of gravimetric anomaly. Engineering is still trying to work that out, and we were saved by mushrooms."

Now she knew she had a head injury. "Mushrooms?"

"The shuttle, and the two of us, were infused with mycelial spores. The science officer here is working on a solution."

"How much of one?" How far away were they? Why was the light in the ceiling not something she was familiar with? Alternate universe? Not time travel. Not again. "Dammit, Beverly."

"We're on a Starfleet ship."

"Which one, and when?" Her head rolled like a cornfield in a thunderstorm. This wasn't going to help her head settle. "Beverly?"

"The _Shenzhou_. Captain Georgiou has been very kind."

 _The_ Captain Georgiou? Who died in the first battle of the Klingon War? This was bad. Very bad. And she couldn't face very bad lying in a biobed. Sitting up turned the rolling pain into a brilliant sort of throbbing, and Beverly's hands were immediately on her shoulders.

"You have--"

"A staggering concussion, even I've figured that out."

"It'll hurt less if you stop moving your head."

"I'll stop moving my head if you tell me how we're going to get home."

Beverly guided her back down, and her hand on Kathryn's forehead was as much a balm as the hypospray that followed. "Be still. The pilot's console has an imprint of your skull."

"I seem to remember you flying into a bulkhead." Joking about it didn't make the vague memories of the moments before the white flash had taken them. "You're all right?"

"My concussion was less severe."

"Show off."

"Rest. When you can stand up, we're having dinner with the Captain."

"Jean-Luc's going to be so jealous."

"Shhhh--" Beverly kissed her forehead. "Rest. The analgesics will kick in and you'll feel better when you wake up."

Awake hurt, and maybe Beverly was right. "And Elsa?"

"She's with Tuvok and T'Pel; she's safe. I don't know anyone better to be looking after her."

"Logic doesn't work on toddlers." She shut her eyes again, letting the medication take her down, pull her under and away from the pain. A Starfleet ship was at least a safe place. Wrong century at least they could deal with. Hopefully they were in the right quadrant.

"Beverly?"

"Sleep."

"Where are we?"

"The Gamma Hydra sector, Federation Space." Beverly stroked her hair back. "We're safe."

"I never would have lived it down."

"I wouldn't have told."

"I love you," Kathryn whispered.

"I know. You should."

* * *

 

When Kathryn opened her eyes again, Beverly was still there. This time she even wore one of the uniforms of this vessel, an unmarked white one. They'd given her the earned honor of being medical, even here.

"You look good, like a dress uniform." Sitting up went far better than it had yesterday, or was it earlier today?

"You get blue, in case you're wondering."

"But no stripes?" The nurse in the background had some kind of rank insignia on his uniform, but Beverly had none.

"We're trying to blend in, not have to explain why an admiral is on a little old ship on the fringes of Federation space."

"Gamma Hydra is hardly the--" Kathryn stopped. How long ago was it? Maybe they _were_ on the fringes. "Right."

Beverly put her finger over her lips. "No secrets for the past."

"Is there coffee?" Kathryn swung her legs over the edge of the biobed. "Please tell me there's still coffee."

"As your doctor, and your wife--"

"Playing both of those cards at once is overkill."

"If you'd listen to me I wouldn't need to use all my good cards."

Behind Beverly, one of the white uniformed medical staff moved closer and Kathryn stopped teasing.

"Good to see you're awake."

She nearly corrected him, because he should have followed that with admiral, but of course he didn't know and she couldn't say. They were in the past, and that only made her headache worse. Though better than before, Beverly had worked her magic again. Still.

"Her vitals are much improved, especially that intracranial pressure."

Beverly nodded knowingly. "Don't mention me when you write your paper, just take credit."

"When I become famous, I'll think of you." He tapped the PADD once more and nodded to Beverly, not Kathryn. "I'm releasing you both. Beverly, I trust you'll return if something's wrong, Kathryn... I'm told Beverly will make you return."

"I prefer Mrs. Crusher," she teased, and Beverly shook her head.

"If you start that, I'm going to continue it when we get home."

"See what I have to put up with?" She slipped from the bed, testing her legs on the deck before she was satisfied they worked.

The other doctor, this ship's doctor was unsympathetic. Beverly had gotten to him. "You should know that doctors are on the same team."

"You're supposed to hate each other and be terrible patients." Kathryn wrapped her arm around Beverly's. "Tell me you've been living up to your profession."

"She's been remarkably well-behaved."

Kathryn bit back a retort that the former head of Starfleet medical should be the worst patient ever, but she'd listened to her EMH complain for years, so, Beverly was far better behaved.

Beverly nodded to the doctor again in thanks and then started steering her out of the room, uniform in hand. "We have quarters on deck three, and the Captain wants to see us for dinner. Since you'll never admit you're tired or exhausted, I assume we're going to go."

"Georgiou?"

"Yes, Captain Georgiou has been very accommodating without prying."

"Oh, she'd have a thousand questions."

"That she hasn't asked."

Beverly led her into a turbolift and it sealed them in. The hum was somewhat familiar but the ship felt a little off. Had ODN conduits been perfected yet? Was it the old gravimetric plating? The concussion?

"Jean-Luc will be so unbelievably jealous. Philippa Georgiou, one of his heroes, and she's having us for dinner."

"I wonder what she'll make?"

"Or replicate."

"Some captains can cook, dear." Beverly patted her shoulder as they left the lift. "Perhaps she's one of them."

"Will Riker has ruined other captains for you. Captains don't cook. We're very busy..."

Beverly humored her all the way to their quarters. The room was small, spartan by even _Voyager's_ standards. She was an old ship, from another time, and she'd seen battles. Ugly frontier skirmishes with Klingons, and all the other species they now called friends. The weight of that experience hung on this little ship, on her captain, and Kathryn stood in front of the window, staring out at the binary star system nearby.

"The listening post near Gamma Hydra." She shook her head, closing her eyes and resting her fingers on the cool window. "It doesn't matter if Captain Georgiou can cook or not, she's about to die."

"Her death is a pivotal moment in Burnham's career."

"Betraying one's captain ought to be, I mean..." Kathryn trailed off. "Desperate times."

"We could just tell her," Beverly said, her voice soft and level. "Sit down with her over dinner and beg her to stay off the Klingon ship, to head home, to call for reinforcements before that cloaked ship even arrives. We could give them the technology to detect the Klingons, teach them how to fire through cloaking devices, change the entire scope of the galaxy."

"Save thousands of lives."

Beverly wrapped her arms around her waist, resting her head on Kathryn's shoulder. "Maybe we'd never meet."

"Maybe we'd have met earlier, maybe Three's already at the academy." Kathryn turned her head and kissed Beverly's cheek. "I miss her."

"She's fine."

"I know, I know, picture her with Tuvok." He'd raise her if they didn't make it home. Jean-Luc would help. She'd go with Will and Deanna for holidays or spend time with B'Elanna and Tom. She'd hear how wonderful her mothers were, how heroic.

How gone.

"How do we leave her? You can't tell me it gets any easier."

Beverly nuzzled her neck and Kathryn shut her eyes. They could be home. She could pretend this was their quarters and Three was asleep in the other room, just for a little while.

"I still wonder where Wesley is, every time I open my eyes. Is he safe, is he happy? Does he have someone to share the wonders of existence with?"

Kathryn nuzzled her back, then guided them into a kiss. When nothing else made sense, that did. "He's safe, they both are."

"That's what we tell ourselves, and if we say it enough, we might believe it." Beverly kissed her again. "Or at least be able to sleep at night."

* * *

 

"It's not bad for synthesized, is it?" Philippa cleared the plates, setting them aside to be cleaned later. "The rice is never what I'd like it to be, but the vegetables turn out well."

Kathryn smirked. "Having never been to Parek-"

"Or tasted my mother's cooking, you will have to believe me." She lifted the wine carafe and filled their glasses again. "The food is good, the wine, less so, but we take what we can get out here."

"We know what that's like." If it wasn't for Jean-Luc, they'd never taste good wine out on their station. "Our station is far from the well-travelled space lines."

"I know you can't tell us about that, or what you do, or too much about your crew--"

"We have a mated quad of Andorians, and some Vulcans in our senior staff, nothing too exotic."

Burnham grinned over her wine. "The Captain is an expert in Andorian martial arts."

Beverly caught Kathryn smiling and had to hide her own. "We know."

"We're ancient history to you, aren't we?" Philippa lifted her glass to Beverly and Kathryn, chuckling. "The famous Captain Georgiou and her promising First Officer, Michael Burnham." She paused and pointed at Michael.  "So, when does she become an admiral? I promise not to tell anyone."

Shaking her head, Michael set down her wine. "No no, when do you become an admiral? You must be first, I haven't even made it up to the big chair yet."

"I never become an admiral," Philippa said with such confidence that Beverly's heart sank into her stomach and twisted there like a dagger.

Kathryn carried the conversation, finishing her wine. "You're not that kind of captain."

"Nor would I want to be. The admiralty is a world of paperwork and space stations, no captain gives up her ship willingly."

"I lost my last ship so they make me stay in one place."

"Lost?" Philippa tilted her head and poured Kathryn more wine. Beverly let her fill her glass as well. It wasn't terrible wine, just not very good either. The conversation more than made up for it.

"My ship was swept up into the Delta Quadrant. Took us seven years to get home, and no, warp drive hasn't improved that much."

"That sounds like a story both triumphant and tragic." Philippa settled back in her chair, her dark eyes full of mirth and sympathy. "Is that how you met? Far away in the Delta Quadrant?"

"Oh no, I had to come back to meet Beverly." Kathryn reached over the table, taking her hand. She toyed with Beverly's fingers, fidgeting lovingly. "Even had to get stationed on Earth, buried in paperwork, ignoring my very important, scheduled medical needs."

"She skipped her physical, several times."

"And for some reason that was so important the head of Starfleet Medical had to see to it personally."

"You'd offended all the other doctors."

"Terrified them right out of my office," Kathryn said, leaning in to kiss Beverly gently. "I'm glad I did."

The rest of the story followed over another bottle of wine, how Beverly had been in danger alongwith the rest of the station when that ancient plague had returned. How thousands of lives had been in the balance, but Kathryn had lost her objectivity.

"All I wanted was her." She picked up her water glass, her other hand still wrapped in Beverly's. "I knew I couldn't save her, couldn't save the station, and I ended up begging everyone who could hear me for help. Klingons, Romulans, even some races you haven't met yet."

"And you saved her? Saved the station?" Michael leaned forward, her chin on her hand. "Can you imagine, Klingons and Romulans, working together with Starfleet?"

Kathryn lifted her fingers and kissed them. "Beverly was worth it."

Stroking her wife's cheek, Beverly leaned close enough to touch their foreheads. "And the other lives on the station."

Philippa settled back, the table long forgotten when they moved to the sofa. "I love that. You asked the stars to help you, and they answered."

"I think that's the hardest lesson for us, for anyone to learn: to be vulnerable, to strip everything away and ask for someone else to come save you." Kathryn snuggled into Beverly's side, squeezing her hand. "Even though it's much better to be the one coming to the rescue."

Beverly toyed with Kathryn's hair. "Next time, I'll make sure I'm imperiled in a way that's easier for you to get all the glory yourself."

"I'd like that."

"We'll have to get you home for that first." Philippa rested her hands on her knees. "And we will. Engineering reports that your shuttle is ready to go, we just need to figure out where."

"So you can get home."

"To our cat, and our daughter, but the cat is probably more concerned by our absence."Beverly rested her chin on Kathryn's head and smirked at Michael.

"Oh?"

"Three's terribly spoiled by the rest of the crew. She's with my first officer now, and she's as spoiled as a toddler can be."

"Three?"

"She's the third member of our away team," Kathryn said, trying to hide her yawn.

Beverly tapped the back of her hand, relieved that neither of them had given away the Borg or anything else. "She's the most exceptional thirteen-month old, and Tuvok's been teaching her Vulcan."

Michael's expression softened and Philippa caught that, meeting her eyes. "Michael was raised on Vulcan."

"Does your daughter have a toy sehlat yet? We can send one back with you. I loved mine until the fangs came off. I think it's tradition."

"Three could always use more."

"Kids always need more toys," Michael beamed. "Oh, I wish you had holos."

Kathryn sat up, dragging Beverly with her. "We should boot up the forbidden computer so we can show them, to hell with the timeline."

"She has Kathryn's hair, a little more red-"

"That's Jean-Luc, you know-"

"She's beautiful."

"I'm sure she is." Philippa smiled at them both, so serene. Beverly remembered again that she would be dead when they left, that she'd be butchered and eaten at the start of the Klingon war. Right now she was warm, and friendly, so easy with her stories and so genuine in listening to theirs. They knew her, trusted her, and they'd only just met through a twist of fate.

Mycelial fibers, moving through space, dragging them along, out of their element to this ship and this moment. She couldn't help thinking of Wesley, and how he must have been in a thousand instants like this one, talking to those he knew were doomed, standing out of time, on the edge, separated by what he knew.

_Wesley, we need to find our way home._

* * *

 

"One last chance to ask to see Three's holos, right?" Michael teased them, standing just inside the shuttle. "I want to touch everything, strip it down and see what we've made better but--"

"Temporal Prime Directive," Kathryn said, double checking the warp relay. She looked behind Michael and grinned. "But one wouldn't hurt. She is the most adorable child ever to exist. You should know that before we go."

"I should, I really should."

Beverly watched Kathryn show off their daughter for a moment before returning to the display and the conflicting data from their best approximation of mycelial scanners. Space mushrooms weren't the strangest thing that had ever pulled them off course, but it was one of the stranger ways they'd even returned home. Fly back into the spatial anomaly no one understands and hope that on the other side, someone would be there to .

Someone from the right time period, and the right place. That seemed almost as vain an idea of thinking about Wesley and hoping that he would appear.

"Good luck, find your way home, okay?" Michael said. "Captain Georgiou and I don't want to see you again here, as much fun as you've been."

"Yes ma'am." Kathryn said, sitting down in the pilot's seat.

Beverly elbowed her. "See, she sounds like an admiral already."

"So you are an admiral, aren't you?" Michael asked from the hatch. "We had a bet."

Beverly rolled her eyes. "We're less subtle than we thought."

"Yes, I'm an admiral. You can tell Philippa she won."

"How do you know it was her?"

"I was a captain once, I know."

Michael stepped off the hatch. "Fly safe."

"You flew us into this," Beverly reminded her, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "Fly us home."

"I can hardly be held responsible for spores dragging us through space and time." Kathryn tapped the controls, taking them out of the _Shenzhou_ back to space; home.

Beverly checked their shields, double checked the sensors. Flying back into the anomaly was never a good part of space travel. Heading for the binary stars and their gravimetric field in hopes of finding what had brought them here, what would bring them home. The _Shenzhou's_ sensors might be too primitive to know what was the waiting for them. The Klingons would come, Starfleet would come to help, and it would be a massacre.

All that unnecessary death.

"I wanted to tell them that we had Klingons at our wedding. That I served with Worf for years."

"The universe changes. Maybe a hundred years from now Romulans will serve in Starfleet, or Three will get to serve on one of theirs."

"Oh that would be fun, can you imagine her with one of their haircuts?" Kathryn turned to her, grinning. "Maybe we should try it."

"It's a good thing she has me to protect her hair." Three could make her own terrible decisions about her hair when she was old enough.

"Maybe you just lack a sense of adventure."

"Hair's not a place to adventure," Beverly said, fidgeting with her own. "I never got over the time I dyed mine brown."

"Did it suit you?"

"Not at all." Beverly chuckled. "Maybe someday I'll show you the holos."

"Now you're just trying to blackmail me."

"I always need a reason to blackmail you."

Kathryn feigned being wounded and they both stared ahead, not talking about the doomed ship they'd just left. "She's one of the most decorated captains in Starfleet, so hopeful, so optimistic."

"And after her past--" Beverly leaned back in her chair, content with her sensor readouts. "She didn't lose herself."

"And the Klingons will eat her. Pick her flesh from her bones," Kathryn shuddered.

The silence grew, blossoming between them until Kathryn made her hand into a fist. "I know what you're going to say."

"Do you?"

Kathryn flexed her fingers, eyes staring forward at the flaming gas around the binary stars. "Her body was never recovered."

"Kathryn--"

"She's a good person, a fellow officer, a captain, she deserves better than that."

Beverly turned in her seat, drawing Kathryn too her, pulling her hands into her lap. "Thousands of people are going to die."

"But we could save one." Kathryn leaned closer, resting their foreheads against each other. "We have no responsibility to the future, no way of knowing if we're not here to bring her back."

"Maybe she'd want to die, fulfill her purpose in the timeline." Beverly knew as soon as she said it that it was a weak argument, captains always served until their death, and one like Philippa Georgiou would accept the chance for more service. More stars to see, more chances for hope.

"A Starfleet captain?" Kathryn reached up and stroked Beverly's cheek. "You married one, you tell me."

Staring into her eyes, Beverly shook her head. "I married an admiral."

Kathryn smirked and leaned in to kiss her. "I hear that's even worse."

"I'm out of time, about to engage in an incredibly dangerous rescue mission for a dead woman, and we don't even know if we'll make it home."

Kathryn's mouth was very warm, and incredibly persuasive. "Isn't that fun?"

* * *

 

The Klingon ship wasn't a vessel, it was a temple. Their boots echoed on the deck, even when they tried to move quietly. They had no time to take in the sights, catalogue the ship, They had to get T'Kuvma, and get out. Quick and fast, prevent a war, find something to bargain with.

Her heart thudded in her ears, blood pumping, adrenaline hot and copper in her mouth. All of her training, the time on Andor, the time in the gym, fighting to become better: stronger for her crew, quicker to keep herself safe.

None of that prepared her for a Klingon, for the weapon swinging towards her head, for the dance of life and death, dodging, ducking out of the way, trying to stay one step ahead. They had to get him and get out.

Get home.

Michael had the phaser, she could stun him, she just had to stay out of the way long enough--

What was that sound?

Death?

Dodge left, stay out of the way. Stay alive for another heartbeat. Death would be quiet. This was something else.

Phaser whined, but not theirs, not Michael's, these were orange, beams, but blasts and they were all around her. T'Kuvma lunged close, and then he stopped.

His eyes were wide, then still. Blank.

Philippa hit him, slamming her fist into his face as he went down. When he fell, Michael stared at her, sweat coating her face.

"I killed him."

"It's all right."

"Captain, I--"

The rest of the bridge crew attacked, swords shining in the golden light of the binary stars, but phaser lanced out, phasers that were beams.

From the future.

They weren't supposed to be here, yet there they stood, their guests. Beverly and Kathryn, phasers in hand like Valkyries.

"I imagine there's a story I don't know, but as we lack the time to hear it--"

They ran, out of the bridge, away from the Klingons, down the corridor, turning, firing.

In a dead in they stopped, staring at each other. Beverly and Kathryn looked at each other, and Kathryn held out her hand.

An invitation.

A choice.

"We've got to go," Michael whispered. "I don't know why you're here, or how, but we have to go, now, before more of them--"

Kathryn's face softened, stilled. "I'm sorry."

"You're giving me a choice."

"What? Michael grabbed her arm, full of adrenaline Philippa no longer felt. "We don't have time for this, we need to go, beam out."

Beverly patted her shoulder. "You don't have to come with us."

The timeline needed to be preserved, she was about to die, and she hadn't. Philippa stared at Michael, her prodigy, her _daughter_.  It was a terrible, beautiful choice.

"Michael."

"We have to go, _now_."

"My dear Michael." Philippa followed Kathryn's gaze to her badge and removed it from her chest. Reaching for Michael's trembling hands, she passed it to her.  "I died here."

"No, what? You're fine." Michael looked at her, then from Kathryn to Beverly, then back, her eyes wet with tears. "They saved you."

"But I die here." They'd known that. They'd tried to cover it up, been polite and kind, but they knew it.

Philippa did.

"You can come with us. I know it's not ideal, but--"

"There's a Starfleet, isn't there?"

Beverly and Kathryn shared a look. "There's still Starfleet."

"In your time, you probably have Klingons on your crew."

Again, they looked at each other and something passed unsaid.

"No, Captain--" Michael's voice cracked and Philippa hugged her, tight, cradling her for the last moment they'd have.

"Forgive yourself, you will be a wonderful captain."

"You can't--"

Pulling back, Philippa touched her chin, then her cheek. "You must tell them that I'm dead. My life sign will disappear, I will be gone. Get the crew off the ship, keep them safe."

"Captain."

"See the stars, find your own way to touch them." She touched Michael's cheek once more, her own tears slipping hot down her face. "Know that I am so very proud of you."

"You can't take her," Michael protested one more time, but she knew.

Transporters hummed, the shuttle's, the _Shenzhou's_ , and then they were gone.

Michael was gone.

Her ship, her crew- Philippa's whole life vanished into a transported from the future.

And they left.

They went home, to a space station that hadn't been built yet. To meet crew that hadn't been born, Vulcans younger than her, and Klingons in Starfleet.

In Beverly and Kathryn's quarters, more than a hundred years in the future, Three looked up at her from the floor, grinning over her toy sehlat while a large grey cat wound around her ankles. Now it was her turn to be a woman out of time.

But the stars were familiar, and Michael Burnham had lived a long life.

A happy one, and she'd been a great captain.

Philippa had known that without even having to touch the computer. She'd known that from the beginning.  



End file.
